


The Silence in Between

by Nanimok



Category: Alex Rider (TV 2020), Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Age Difference, Alex Rider is a Mess, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Horny Alex Rider, M/M, MI6!Yassen, Murder Husbands, Some Fluff, Yassen Gregorovich Lives, except for one hehe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25649371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: Yassen’s dating again and Alex absolutely hates it.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 13
Kudos: 94





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzie_Shooter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/gifts).



Yassen’s dating again and Alex absolutely hates it. He’s with a woman this time—the last two weren’t—and Alex despises that her photos exude sophistication, experience and worldliness to a degree which Alex might never reach. That her wit’s as sharp as a paring knife. That her charm is as striking as a jab to the gut. That she could ease the tension in Yassen’s shoulders with a single phone call.

It only makes Alex feel all the more clumsy and foolish. Him and his silly, coltish limbs.

But Alex knows she won’t last. She’s around the same calibre as all the other people Yassen mentions. They never last. Sometimes, when Alex’s glancing at Yassen with a thick mouthful of want wetting his tongue, Yassen glances back, if only for a fraction of a second.

A fraction of a second is all he needs. A fraction of a second, and the trajectory of his life has already been decided.

Alex isn’t blind—he can see that he’s growing up strong. His cheeks are full, his lips are plush, and his body is strong. When Alex pushes fingers into his mouth, flattening his tongue down, his lips curve around the digits, glistening under the light. It makes him look wanton. It makes him look needy. It makes him want to suckle on a cock. More than ever, it makes him want to suckle on _Yassen’s_ cock—suck and gag while Yassen pulls his hair. Until tears prick his eyes and Yassen comes undone under on his tongue.

And Alex knows he’s not the only one who thinks this way. Girls eye him up during class, and the meaning behind Rafe’s animosity becomes clearer by the day.

“You going to do anything about him?” Tom asks one day. When Alex gives him a questioning look, Tom gestures at Rafe’s group—the rich kid’s group—over his shoulder. “Him. Voldemort. Or Kylo Ren. Whatever you prefer.”

Rafe’s given Alex a hard time since the minute they’ve hit puberty. Alex hardly thinks that anything he does can change that.

Alex shrugs. “What about it?”

“You’re not going to do anything? You’re not going to take him around a corner and beat him blue with your mysterious karate skills till he pisses off?” Tom play-punches Alex around the middle—a punch which Alex half-heartedly blocks as he breaks into a smile.

“Nah,” Alex says, scrunching his nose. “He’s just a closeted prick. Hardly worth the effort.”

If Alex starts, he’d hardly stop after a few hits. He’d break a couple of bones, and not the easy ones too— he won’t break the ones which become stronger over time. Alex would go for the joints. Those can fuck you up years after the injury happens. Alex would make sure Rafe’s good for the rest of his life. It’s what a prick like him deserves.

“Sides,” Alex says. “I’d say you punch like a girl, but my mum packs a meaner punch to the poor computer when she’s angry.”

“Not fair,” Tom says. “Your mum’s an absolute beast. In a good way, of course.”

Alex snorts. “Sure, you do.”

The bell rings, and they swing their bags around their shoulders just as Tom says, “You sure you don’t want to do anything about him? He’s worse than a fucking prick, mate. Nah, he’s an absolute sadist.”

Tom’s not wrong. He’s not wrong at all. Alex bets that Rafe is more than a sadist. Alex bets that Rafe’s one step away from wrapping a belt round some poor guy’s neck and pulling it tight while he fucks the guy to completion.

“I feel sorry for the guy who has to deal with his shit.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Tom says. “Be ready to call the police. The poor guy’s going to need them.”

Alex laughs, because that’s one thing they can all agree on. Nobody deserves Rafe.

“I hope he chokes on a dick,” Alex says, and he absolutely means it.

* * *

To Alex’s surprise and eternal pleasure, it’s Yassen who waits for him after school.

“Did mum pick up a shift?” Alex asks, sliding into the passenger seat of Yassen’s car.

“Yes,” Yassen says. “She asked me to take you to swimming.”

“We’re a bit late.”

“My apologies,” Yassen says smoothly. “Something came up at work.”

“Those numbers keeping you up at night?” Alex asks. “Dad always calls them a nightmare. Said he was doing a public service by keeping them in the bank.”

Creases form in the corner of Yassen’s eyes. “You can certainly call it a public service, yes.”

The rest of their car ride is filled with idle chatter on Alex’s part. He can’t help it. It’s him and Yassen in a small, intimate space with no one to interrupt and Alex buzzes happily. Yassen slides a quip in once and a while, an anecdote if it fits, but otherwise, he remains content listening. If Alex is lucky, and sometimes he is _very_ lucky, Yassen will share one or two of his own stories. 

Then, of course, his happy bubble breaks when Yassen’s phone, stuck to the window of his car, flashes with a text. This one is his personal phone. The phone Yassen leaves behind for months at a time while he’s overseas for work. Alex knows this because his dad does the same and Alex found it in his desk drawer when he snuck into John’s office once. Mum is never too worried, though, so unlike Alex, she probably has the number of dad’s work phone.

Yassen smiles as he swipes the text away, but Alex could tell—it’s a message from his girlfriend.

Something sharp and ugly plummets inside his belly. It sows its seeds and digs in its roots.

“You and dad should join the swimming school,” Alex says suddenly, burning with the need to have Yassen’s attention on him. “You two never swim with me anymore.”

Yassen’s tongue peeks out for a flash of a second. “Work has been busy,” Yassen says apologetically.

Shame boils his cheeks red. “Yeah, I know,” Alex mutters. “I’m sorry. I’m just being silly.” Because the last thing Alex wants is for Yassen to see him as a whiny kid.

“It’s fine,” Yassen says. “Once work calms down, okay?”

Their work will never calm down. It hasn’t since Alex could remember.

“Okay,” Alex says anyway. Before he could think too much about it, he falls into a funny story Tom told him today.

His parents have brought him here to the pools since he was young. Alex feels like he learnt how to thread the water before he learnt how to crawl. Now, he swims two or three times a week, depending on how busy his schoolwork is. One of Alex’s earliest memories is of his family taking him to the pool. He thinks Yassen is there because John wasn’t alone when he was doing his laps. Helen was having too much fun bobbing a delighted Alex up and down the water.

The memory brings some giddiness back in him. As soon as he gets into the pool, he waves for Yassen’s attention. He sinks down into the water, chipmunks his cheeks, and blows bubbles with his mouth.

Yassen’s eyes creases again. Satisfaction is sharper than the tang of chlorine on Alex’s tongue.

Yassen caught a lot of attention when he walked into the pools. They can look all they want. Yassen only smiles for him.

Then, the actual swimming is therapeutic, both soothing and demanding in how the water presses down on him. Here he can focus on his senses as he glides through the water; the blue tones of the tiled floor, the softened, wet smack of water lapping on skin, the slight resistance as he rotates his hips. It’s easy to imagine Yassen’s hands resting on his hip bones this way. Guiding his posture with firm hands. Tough, strong fingers fluttering close to the swell of his ass.

The class runs for an hour and Alex feels pleasantly limber after. He pulls himself over the edge of the pool, water trickling down his back. He scratches an itchy patch on his stomach as he takes his goggles and swimming cap off, shaking the water out of his hair. 

“Towel?”

Alex looks up. Yassen holds his towel up, but he’s sitting cross-legged and looking off to the side.

The back of his neck is red.

Alex doubts that it’s from the heat of the building.

“Thanks,” Alex says, making sure to scratch lower on his stomach as he grabs the towel.

* * *

It’s hard for Alex to be scared of things that go bump in the night when his father’s one of them. Alex doesn’t remember when he realised that his father was more than just a banker. Probably the same time he realised his uncle and Yassen were in on it too. When Alex is on a hunting trip with John is when he sees it the most—the still body of water in his eyes, growing murkier and murkier the longer they’re apart from the city.

They go on these hunting trips often, just the two of them. His mum usually sits out. She’s always too busy, and she’s not too fond of secluded cabins with minimal internet connection and hot water. She’s a nurse, mum would say, she sees plenty of blood at work already—although dad says mum’s a keen shot herself. When John can’t go because of work, then Yassen is the one who takes him.

Alex can remember them lying in the tall grass, the smell of dirt and fresh, tang of cut grass layering around them. The sharp, intense smell of grass is a distress signal, Alex remembers reading. It’s interesting; a sign of life. When plants are injured, they release a number of volatile chemicals which cleans the site and encourages new cells to grow. A bit like humans and their antibodies, crying for help while it patches up its wounds.

At the centre of his crosshairs is a doe, grazing on a patch of grass.

“That’s it,” Yassen says. “Breathe in… and out…”

Yassen’s hand is between his shoulder blades, but Alex feels its weight throughout his body. The rhythm of his breathing matches the crests and dips of Yassen’s voice. Like his chest is attached to a set of strings. If Alex closes his eyes, he can pretend that Yassen is drawing small circles with his index finger.

“Keep it steady,” Yassen says. “Hold half a mil to the right to adjust for wind… that’s it. A slow exhale, pause, and squeeze gently. Squeeze all the way down and carefully lead the trigger back. Stay true to your shot.”

Alex breathes in. He breathes out—

—a hollow bang explodes as he squeezes the trigger.

The doe collapses on its legs, ears twitching and chest convulsing. There’s a round, red hole at the side of its neck.

Alex almost expects something else after his shot. Something grand and filled with vengeance. Like a wrathful pack of deer trampling towards him for his transgressions. But nothing happens as the doe stills as quietly as the forest around them. It’s eyes are as translucent as obsidian glass, Alex notices with a racing heart. Beautiful in its obscured depths. Powerful against a force as overwhelming as the sun, letting only a permissible amount of light through, like Yassen’s eyes.

Yassen breathes out with him. “Good,” he says.

Yassen never needs volume to resonate. The sounds of his quiet words being formed holds as much depth as the word’s meanings. His hand presses harder against Alex’s back.

“That was very good, indeed,” Yassen says. “Well done, Alex.”

* * *

Alex knows that his age bothers Yassen, but he’s not going to be young forever. Isn’t that why his father’s pushing him harder and harder in their shared hobbies? Because John is preparing Alex for something that’s big and life-changing and _shoddy_ , by the way his mum and dad fights over it when they think Alex can’t hear. He can do big and life-changing. He can certainly do shoddy. He can be Yassen’s dirty little secret to hoard in Yassen’s pocket pants if Yassen would just let Alex’s hands snake through.

Rafe has no problems with Alex’s hands roaming whichever way he wants. Rafe has no problem with the time of night or the forest they’re meeting in. As long as his knee is shoved between Alex’s legs and the prospect of getting his dick sucked is very high, Rafe keeps his mouth—relatively shut.

Alex is still taller than him, though. That is one thing that pisses Rafe off. Alex doesn’t have the time or the care to address his superiority complex. He just hitches both of his legs higher up Rafe’s hips, and digs his nails into Rafe’s shoulders.

“Fuck, you’re heavy,” Rafe says.

“Shut up, Rafe,” Alex says before pressing their mouths together.

Rafe digs his fingers into Alex’s ass and it’s rough—but it’s not the right kind of rough. Rafe smells as flushed as Alex feels but it’s not the right kind of heat. Alex squirming, wishing Rafe would just—press him down and grind their hard-ons together.

Yassen did this to his girlfriend, when Alex paid a visit yesterday. Yassen was there, a slither of light through his curtain as Alex was outside. He hitched her up to his hips. He dug his hands into her ass. He plastered their bodies together until there was not a speck of air between them. He kissed her like it’s too overwhelming to do anything else.

Alex imagines Yassen’s hands on his skin. There would be no jeans or shirt in the way—just the two of them, hot blood beating underneath. He’s not as hairless or as soft but he thinks Yassen wouldn’t mind. Yassen wouldn’t mind that at all—

Pain hits like a heavy blow onto his back. It’s bracing, seizing the breath in his cheat. Alex hisses, legs sprawled on the ground.

“Fuck,” Alex says. “What the fuck?”

“Shit.” Rafe’s hands fly to the front of his jeans. “My bad.”

“Fuck you,” Alex spits out. He rips grass from the ground and chuck it at Raff. “If you think I’m still blowing you after this, you’re dreaming, mate.”

“Oh, come on,” Rafe says, trying to crawl over him. “It was an accident.”

Alex brings one leg up. “No. Fuck off.” 

“Alex—”

“Don’t ‘Alex’ me.”

“I said I was sorry—”

“When? When did you say that?”

Rafe shoves Alex’s shoulder onto the ground. “Christ, get over it already, will you?”

And before Rafe could press his weight down, a leather belt appears around his neck—

—Alex scrambles back, smudging dirt into his clothes—

—and Yassen is there, holding on to belt around Rafe’s neck as he pulls Rafe off Alex’s shocked form.

There’s drumming in Alex’s ears. There’s the smell of cold, wet grass on his hands. It feels like his tongue has swelled twice its size. His body feels both hot and cold; torn in it fever. He feels like a touch would be too much information as his minds turns over and over and over—

Yassen is _here._ Yassen _found_ him. Yassen came _here_ for him, _Alex_.

And Yassen looks absolutely _livid._

Yassen’s forearms are corded with steel cables and Alex can’t help admire his strength with a dry throat. His knuckles are white but his hold stays true. Rafe is struggling, but there’s still a small whistle of air going in. His flailing and frantic scratching does nothing against Yassen’s firm stance.

 _He’s done this before,_ Alex thinks.

The realisation is like a jab to his sternum.

“Are you okay, Alex?” Yassen asks.

Rafe digs his thumb under the bottom of the belt.

“Yeah,” Alex says, hands going around his own neck. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m fine.”

More thoughts race through his head. Things like ‘ _It’s okay, Yassen. We were just playing._ ’ Even though at one point, it could have gone somewhere else. But he doesn’t. Alex doesn’t say anything of the like.

“Don’t,” Alex says instead.

“Sorry?”

“Don’t let go,” Alex says. He licks his lips and presses his palm against his crotch. “Pull it tighter.”

An understanding dawns in Yassen’s eyes.

Slowly, like the trigger of his gun, Yassen pulls the belt tighter in his hands. Alex presses down in time with Yassen’s puling, a heavy pressure of pleasure soothing the bone-deep ache of his cock. He lets out a soft sigh, and he can see Yassen tracking the way his lips part. He can see the way Yassen’s own breathing stutters as Alex spreads his legs open.

Rafe fights tooth and nail to break free. At some point he tries to speak—that must be what the squeak is, but Yassen is unrelenting. Rafe digs his fingers into the leather belt, and when that doesn’t work, he reaches out to dig his nails into Yassen’s arm.

Alex never stops watching.

Blind panic—today, Alex learns that the expression can be quite literal. Rafe’s eyes are a bright green, unlike the doe, but they glass over into the same translucent state as the doe. Like how the sea blends into a shade of green during the cloudiest times of the year.

Alex can see it as if he was there. He can feel the body of water laying over his body. Thick, heady, and powerful. It’s what Yassen would feel like under his fingers.

Yassen lowers the body quietly on to the floor. It’s a little respectful—and the irony strikes a fond note inside Alex.

“Alex?” Yassen asks.

Heat rushes to Alex’s already too hot and sensitive cock. It’s simply what Yassen’s voice does to him.

Despite the cold, night air, Alex is straining against every ball of cotton in his underpants. Every shift of fabric, every brush against the sewn hems of his pants feels too much. Yet, Alex does nothing to relieve himself. He goes on all fours, digging his palms into the dirt. He catches Yassen’s eyes as his back curves into the performance. He crawls—and he crawls his way to Yassen.

 _There it is_ , Alex thinks, anticipation peppering the tiny hairs on his arms. It’s the same hunger he sees in the mirror.

Alex wants more of it.

He sidesteps Rafe’s still body.

There is still fire in his blood, and it blazes hotter as he inches closer. Under Yassen’s gaze, he’s flying like a phoenix.

He drags his bottom lip against the edge of his teeth. Yassen’s eyes instantly snaps to his swollen lips.

When Alex reaches Yassen, he runs his hands up Yassen’s calves, his knees, then the bottom of his thighs. Muscle is all he feels. The yielding hardness that is muscle and warmth under his fingers. He would have used his mouth, if there weren’t cloth between them. He would have kissed his way up Yassen’s leg. From the back of his knees, to the top of his thighs—nibble the intimate crease where his leg meets his hips. All the way to the bottom of his navel, where he’d savour the hairs tickling his lips.

Yassen doesn’t move, but it’s different from Rafe. Yassen doesn’t move because he is like a tight band on the verge of snapping. The tent on his crotch is asking for enough attention. There’s delight hopping inside him. Alex wants to ask, ‘ _Is that for me?’_ but of course it is. It’s only the two of them in the forest.

Alex noses Yassen’s cock instead. He mouths at the curve.

A sharp inhale above him. Yassen’s cock twitches under the fabric.

Yassen is still holding the belt in his hands. Alex gently takes the end curled on the floor and slides it back into loops of Yassen’s pants. He pulls it around Yassen’s hips, and buckles it on the fourth hole—exactly how Yassen does it.

Alex can feel Yassen hesitating. He’s too quiet. He hasn’t said much in a while. A quiet Alex Rider is always a cause for concern in Yassen’s books.

“Alex?” Yassen asks again.

Alex doesn’t reply, but he tugs Yassen’s arms and Yassen helps him up. Alex leans closer into Yassen’s space, once he’s standing, eyes fluttering close as Yassen’s arms automatically wraps around him. He noses his way into the little nook under Yassen’s ear, cataloguing the dirt, sweat, and a dulled layer of moss on Yassen’s clothes. Underneath it all is the intoxicating musk that is fully Yassen.

Alex breathes in deep. Like this, he can imagine that they’re in bed, Alex’s hands latching onto Yassen’s back and Yassen’s body cooling on top of him.

Death is pungent and sour—as most rotting thing are. It’s immediate and permanent. It’s glorious in its power and merciless in its simplicity. Buried as he is, however, in Yassen’s smell and warmth, Alex can’t help but think that death will never compare to Yassen Gregorovich.

“You saved me,” Alex says, brushing his lips against Yassen’s neck. “My one and only. My hero.”


	2. postscript

Alex feels light after, like there’s a layer of fluff clouding his head. He’s floating on a glass floor, ten feet up the ground. He doesn’t recall helping Yassen with the body, only that they did, and afterwards, Yassen ushered him into the shower and laid him to bed in the guest room.

When Alex next woke up, he’s alone. It’s night time. He’s in his pyjamas and his lights are off.

That won’t do. Alex makes his way to Yassen’s bedroom. He creeps past Yassen’s door, then he sneaks into Yassen’s bed and huddles under Yassen’s sheets.

Yassen startles awake at his touch. “Alex?”

“Hi,” Alex says, snuggling in closer. “I was cold.”

Yassen relaxes, but only barely, and once he realises that he himself is not wearing a shirt, he slowly stiffens under Alex’s touch.

That someone as powerful and lethal as Yassen would reign himself back under Alex’s touch only urges him on. Alex slips one feet between his, and slides one hand up Yassen’s delectably firm belly.

Little, thick, curls of hair tickle under his palm. There, right on left rib, is where Alex buries his face. There’s the scent that drives him mad, but stronger, and headier—so concentrated that he could choke on it. The warm, earthy scent that is fundamentally Yassen. The same scent that underlines the comfy padding of his car and his house. The same scent mixing with fresh mint of his soap and shampoo. The same scent Alex want to pour inside himself until it floods all the empty spaces in his body.

Yassen’s heartbeat is right under his ear. Alex curls his toes, breathes in deep, and melts like goo into the bed. He thinks he’s found the one spot on earth God was gracious enough to gift him.

Yassen still hasn’t touched him. Alex wishes he would touch him.

“Alex,” Yassen says.

He mumbles into Yassen’s skin, tasting salt along the way. He swipes his tongue out for more.

“Alex,” Yassen says again. This time, his voice sounds strained.

“You should just give in, you know?” Alex’s arms wrap around his waists, almost locking Yassen into place. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A stutter in Yassen’s heartbeat. Then, hesitant fingers tugging at the nape of his neck, insisting that he look up.

There’s hunger in Yassen’s eyes again. The same intimate, familiar craving that transcends beyond the physical. It doesn’t repel Alex. It magnetises him. It pulls him closer.

 _Good,_ he thinks. _If you want me, just take me._

“You asked before what your father and I did for work,” Yassen says. “Do you really want to know?”

It’s amazing how Yassen is lying down yet Alex still climbs him like a tree. “Yes,” Alex says, one thigh seeking in Yassen’s inner leg. “Yes, I want to know.”

Alex knows that once he dives in, there’s no breaking out. He’ll sink to the ground. Yassen won’t let him go. Alex won’t want him to. In Alex’s mind, however, he’s already Yassen’s. Their promises were made in the forest, and sealed with a soul. A life for a life—Alex intends to honour their vows. Yassen gave him Rafe’s so Alex will give Yassen his own.

Alex leans in, and he can’t help the giddiness inside his veins, bubbling up like champagne. It’s silly. He can’t control his smile. His nose is too stubby. Everything about his face is too round. He’ll probably never lose the chubbiness in his cheeks. When he smiles, his buck teeth shows. It makes him look a little dopey.

But Yassen looks at him like he’s stolen treasure. he strokes the back of his knuckles against the shape of his bottom lip. “You’ll be the death of me,” Yassen says.

And finally, _finally,_ Yassen claims him with a kiss. 

* * *

Alex can’t help how he’s been humming all day. Every muscle in his body has loosened into an easy coil. There’s a slight tenderness in his body. Alex doesn’t care about the pain at all. His chest has been buzzing with so much happiness lately, he might burst at the seams with sunshine. Finding Tom takes twice the time it usually does because he can’t stop bumping into people and apologising for it.

“Now what’s got you grinning like a you’ve just won the lottery?” Tom asks, walking beside him in the hall.

Alex tries to reel in his face. He fails. “What?”

“What,” Tom mocks as he shoves their shoulders together. “You heard me.”

Alex can feel his cheeks hurt from grinning. “Who’s to say I _didn’t_ win the lottery?”

“You would’ve called me first thing,” Tom says.

“You wish.”

“Fuck you,” Tom says, grinning back. “We’re not even old enough to buy tickets.”

“Yassen is,” Alex says, without thinking.

Then he reels his face back under control when Tom’s face puckers into one of those horrible smug cat memes.

“Mate,” Tom says.

“Shut up.”

“ _Mate._ ”

“Shut _up,_ Tom.”

“I thought you outgrew him and moved on to Ayisha,” Tom says. “Dude, that guy is old enough to be a dinosaur. Worse, he’s old enough to be your _dad._ ”

“How is that worse than being a dinosaur?” Alex asks. “Besides, he’s not that old. He’s younger than my dad.”

“Your dad’s a _banker._ Pressed shirts. Square ties. Never a kilometre over the limit. Your whole life in drab greys, and navy blues." Tom shudders. “Like Ian.”

This time, Alex manages to shut his mouth in time, but only because the ghost of Yassen’s hands running over his ribs slam through his mind and turns his cheeks hot.

“Are you blushing right now?” Tom narrows his eyes. “Oh my god, you are blushing. You’re totally blushing. Everyone Alex Rider is—”

Alex clamps his hand over Tom’s mouth. “Shut up— _Tom_ —It’s not a crush. He’s just teaching me how to drive.”

“Why? Your birthday’s not till ages.”

“Not a car…” Alex looks around before leaning in to whisper. “A helicopter.”

“A helicopter!” Tom says incredulously. Then he ducks his head sheepishly. “A helicopter? What’s a banker doing with a helicopter?”

“It’s just a hobby.”

“It’s a pretty loaded hobby.”

There it goes. His face break into a dopey smile again. “It is. Yassen’s pretty great like that.”

“Oh, gross,” Tom says. “I don’t want to hear all about your Love-copter.”

“Love-copter?” Alex asks. “Like what? A helicopter filled with love?”

“Shut up." Now it's Tom's turn to blush. "I didn’t think it through.”

Before Alex could give Tom more shit, hands shove between their shoulders. “Move it!” Fiona says, before she and her posse stomp between him and Tom. She has her chin up, and her eyes are red and glassy.

Angers swells in him, and Alex stomps it down. He rubs his shoulder. “What’s her problem?” he asks.

Tom shrugs, already fixing his beanie. “Pissy as usual, I guess.”

“No surprises there.”

“I heard Rafe stood her up last night.”

His heartbeat stutters at the name. Blood rushes to his ears like a barrage of drumming. Alex is careful to keep his voice light. “Not surprised,” he says. “He’s a dick. He’s not in school today?”

“No.” Tom shakes his head. “Not like he’s never done this before. I heard he ran away to his summer house for a whole month last year without telling anyone and he didn’t even get suspended.”

“Crazy,” Alex says carefully. “It’s crazy how people like him can just get away with everything.”

“Rich people,” Tom says. “Bonkers. Absolutely bonkers.”

Alex imagine Rafe’s glossy eyes, and he imagines the crease in the corner of Yassen’s eyes. He thinks of Yassen’s nimble fingers, clever mouth, and soft, luxurious bed. The bed smelled like them by the morning. Alex wants nothing more but to bury his head into the pillow with Yassen’s hand on his lower back and drift off to sleep.

He’s only been in school for an hour and already he misses Yassen so much.

“Yeah,” Alex says. “People like him are absolute bonkers.” Then he shakes his head and clears his throat. “Let’s go before we’re late to class.”

**Author's Note:**

> aka murderslut alex au. 
> 
> Inspired by the film _Stoker (2013)_. Hope I got that gothic, slutty, murder vibe down.


End file.
